Nothing Special
by Llyxius
Summary: Ash has never been the most articulate person in the world, and is not comfortable at all with the "icky love stuff." So when he has to manage both at the same time, trouble ensues (as usual.) AAML.
1. Chapter 1 & 2

_A/n:  This was an inadvertent challenge by Latonya Wright.  I was ranting about twelve-year-olds saying "I love you," and she happened to wonder under what circumstances I would__ have Ash and Misty confess their love.  So there you go, an explanation and plot summary all at once.  Btw, there's a reference...err, okay, a self-plagiarism...of a scene in one of my other fics in here, but it's a different situation, it's got a different ending, and it occurred because one of the paragraphs I began writing ended up being three pages long, so please forgive me.  -_-'  _

_  
Please R&R—anyone who reviews gets an imaginary ten-foot tall Hershey kiss from me, how's that for incentive?  And as I'm currently stressed out about next semester's class schedule, all flames will be directed to the registrar.  With that said, enjoy!  ^_~_

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**_Nothing Special_**

Chapter One

            My stomach was in knots—when I wasn't _sick to my stomach, that is.  I was sweaty all over—when I wasn't busy shaking with the chills.  My breath was ragged—at least when I remembered to breathe.  And my mind wouldn't function __at all—though Misty would say that if this was a symptom, then I was sick every day._

            I didn't have the flu.  I had that other cliché-ridden illness.  I was in _love._

            Don't get me wrong; this in itself was not a bad thing.  In fact, I was quite happy to be in love.  Almost sappy, even—hey, that rhymed.  Anyway.  I'm not talking about a dumbstruck 'love at first sight' love, either.  This was a slow (but sure) growing love that had matured over the last five years into what it was today.  And what that was...

            Okay, _that I'm not sure about.  I was sure I was in love, and I figured that was as good a starting place as any.  Misty would chastise me for that argument if she heard me saying it.  I never think ahead, she would say.  I'm never practical or rational.  I need to use my head just as much as I use my heart._

            At least, she would say that until I told her what I was talking about.  I can see it now.  Yes, Misty, that's right—I love you.   It's the one of the few times that she would be rendered speechless.  She would be amazed at my caring, compassionate nature.  She'd probably pick up my hand, stare at the pinkie finger, and tease me that this must have been where my romantic bone was stored all along.  She wouldn't believe that I had actually managed to say the words aloud to her...

            And neither would I, for that matter.

            And that's the problem.  I like to be loved, and I like being in love.  But saying the words _I love you?  No problem—yeah, right.  This coming from a guy whose best pick-up line was "I'll pay you back for that bike!"_

            Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the expectations placed upon me with this statement.  Girls are weird about things like that.  I like girls—I fell in love with one.  But the girl I'm in love with nearly had a nervous breakdown because her first kiss wasn't _special enough.  Who knows what she was expecting from the words __I love you?  A romantic candlelight dinner wouldn't be enough, that was expected.  So was a dozen roses to accompany the announcement.  A carriage ride in the moonlight would be a nice touch, except..._

            It's boring!

            Don't write me off as losing my romantic bone yet.  It's just that all that stuff is traditional.  It may be romantic, but it happens to everyone.  The girl I loved deserved and would expect to have her own special moment.  I had to come up with something so spectacular that she would write ten pages in her diary that night recounting every detail so she would remember it for the rest of her life.  Something so incredible that every time she told the story to her girlfriends, they would '_oo' and '__ah' and say, "How romantic!  You're so lucky, Misty...why can't my boyfriend be like Ash?"  _

            Which would promptly put me on the hit list of every guy who got berated when the girls went home that night and wanted to know why _their boyfriends didn't bring __them flowers.  And girls __wonder why guys find it so hard to say __I love you..._

            Complicating matters was the girl I had to say this too.  I've become a pretty popular person over the course of my journeys.  It doesn't hurt that I'm arguably one of the best pokémon masters in the world at the ripe young age of nineteen (I'm still working on being _the best, but that's pretty good for now.)  It took me four years to become a pokémon master, and then an additional two to become pokémon league champion, a title that I've defended for the past three years—the most anyone has kept the title for the last ten years.  I'm practically undefeated—though we won't talk about the Champion's Cup right now.  Going head to head with fifteen other previous champions is not a cup of tea, though it is a good ego check._

            Misty's well known herself, but for a reason that irks the devil out of her.  She's an excellent trainer herself—the year after I became champion, she won the Pokémon league and managed to defeat all of the elite four herself.  I was so proud of her—then of course, she had to challenge me.  Obviously, if I'm still champion, I won.  But the point is, she's one of the world's top trainers herself, name worthy in her own right.

            But is she a pokémon master to everyone else?  No, she's Ash's girlfriend.  _The pokémon league champion's girlfriend.  One of __the best pokémon masters in the world's girlfriend.  And to some girls...competition.   I'm viewed as a pretty good "catch."  I go to matches and the people in the stands yell "I love you, Ash!"  I get fan mail saying the same thing.  Some people have actually sent me __marriage proposals...and for her, __death threats!_

            Both are crazy, but ever time the latter happens, I become absolutely, and I mean totally and completely, infuriated.  While she laughs.  She thinks it's hilarious and says that if they knew the real me, they'd give her sainthood instead.  

            That's because after all these years, she refuses to take note of my fame or position.  She's very proud of me, and she admits now that I'm one of the best, which is a big change from when we first met.  But you'd think that over the course of nine years, our relationship might have changed.  You'd think that once we were a couple—especially a couple of five years—we'd have stopped our (mostly) play fighting.  We'd be nice and sweet and lovey-dovey and wonder how we ever could have thought any differently.

            You'd think wrong.

            When we first started going out I _had thought that I had to alter my behavior. I gave her compliments every day.  I picked wildflower bouquets for her, and I brought her candy just because I missed her.  What did Misty do?  She set me straight pretty quickly._

            She accepted the compliments because she already believed them about herself.  She took the flowers and complained because they weren't roses.  And she ate the candy, then became paranoid that she was going to get fat and refused to eat anything on our dates because she was on a diet.  Every nice thing I did was repaid with teasing and insults.  After a few weeks of that, obviously, I had to do something.  I teased her back. 

            I swear, I may be the reigning pokémon league champion, but she's the world's best insult queen.  I used to be able to hold my own with her, but after admitting that I cared about her, I haven't been able to reach the same level of sarcasm as I did before.  Of course, she had no problem with this.  But I know she cares too.  She doesn't call me stupid anymore (though _idiotic slips in every once in a while) and even threw away her mallet._

            But she's there when I need her most.  And that's what's most important to me.

~~~

            Three years ago I was shaken badly.  I had been lucky for most of my six years of training.  My pokémon had given me some close scares, but I had never lost one...until the hurricane that struck Pallet town and the surrounding areas.  And ironically enough, it wasn't the hurricane that claimed the victim closest to me.  It was the aftermath.

            The hurricane was scary but survivable.  I boarded up the windows on our house and then mom and I drove over to Professor Oak's.  (I worked a few hours a week for him as an assistant—I may be League champion, but I still had a lot to learn.)  I called Misty to tell her to be careful, and then we helped the Professor make sure that everything on the reserve was secure and that all the pokémon were in their poké-balls.  Then we went down to the basement to wait until the hurricane passed us by.

            During the eye of the storm Professor Oak went up to check on the pokémon but made me stay down with my mom—I think it was because of her, as well, as she was trying not to worry but not succeeding very well.  When the storm was over I walked her home, leaving our car at the Professor's—the roads were impassable to drive.  Our house had a broken window or two, and her garden was in ruins, but everything was still standing.  We had been fortunate.

            After checking the phone lines and finding them dead, I took action to get my mind off things.  I gave mom a kiss on the cheek and then began looking around the surrounding trees and forests for any pokémon that were hurt or lost, particularly those the Professor and I had released.  I had my pokémon out to help me search and told them all to be careful—the storm had made a lot of changes to the terrain.  Trees were down everywhere, and our river, that normally didn't look big enough to be called a river, was twice its normal width and crashed and roared downstream at a frightening speed.

            We were walking along the riverbank when I spotted a rattata that was clinging to a branch halfway submerged in the rushing waters.  I tried getting Bulbasaur to use his vine whip to save it, but the rattata panicked and almost fell in.  I would have to try myself.  There was another heavy branch near it, just close enough for me to held on to it tightly and so, holding my breath, I waded in.

            It was _cold—and the current's swiftness nearly knocked me off my feet.  I kept a firm grip and tried to wrap my feet around the branch, using it to crawl down towards the rattata.  But I felt less sturdy this way, and so I tried to put my feet down.  But the river was too fast.  Before I could stand up again, my hand touched a slick spot on the log.  And suddenly I lost my grip and went under._

            I felt the branch whiz by—or rather myself fly past the branch as I lost my support and was caught up in the torrential rapids.  I resurfaced briefly but was coughing so hard that I could hardly even breathe before being swept under again.  My mind was clouded and the current made it impossible to even try to save myself.  I was in too much shock to believe that I was going to die—but it would have taken a miracle to save me.

            Or a sacrifice...

            I felt a nudge, then a harder shove.  I gasped as I resurfaced and was knocked closer to the bank.  I went under again, and then once more, but my rescuer was persistent.  Within moments I was able to touch my feet to the shallow end of the riverbed, though I couldn't regain my balance enough to walk to the shore.  But even as I was being swept downstream I was being pushed closer and closer to the banks, until finally I stumbled on to shore and fell gasping onto the grass.  I turned around only to see my savior, one of my best friends, unable to make it up himself and be swept away in front of my eyes.

            I screamed his name and ran beside the river, stumbling as I did so, still weak from my struggle.  A minute passed...five minutes passed...ten.  By the time thirty minutes had passed I had followed the river for almost a mile and was crying.  I reached the stream that was a tributary from the river, its flow heavy but much less turbulent than the river.  In the middle of the two bodies of water was an island—and in the middle of the island lay one of my best friends.

            I waded through the stream.  My steps were careful—the water could be forded, and I did so, but I was too exhausted to fight it again if I fell.  I knelt down at the body of my rescuer and felt the tears flow.  He lay still and wasn't breathing.  I don't know how it was that I found him—the odds were so slim—but I was glad.  I needed closure.  He had been with me since the beginning and was loyal to the end, and that had cost him his life.   

            Bulbasaur...was gone.

            I cradled his body in my arms the entire walk home.  I called my other pokémon back, and they followed me, silently and soberly, in an odd funeral procession.  I don't think I ever stopped crying.  When I reached my house, Misty was waiting at the door for me, and my tears become those of both grief and relief.  I had been worried about her—I had already lost one of the friends I loved.  I didn't want to lose another.

            She didn't say anything—she just took me in her arms and held me.  We walked inside and I watched as she went into the closet and pulled out a towel and a box.  She carefully arranged the towel, then nodded at me.  I knelt down and wordlessly placed my friend's body inside the box.  When I stood back up, my world was blurred with tears.

            Misty led me over to the sofa and rocked me as I cried, stroking my hair and pressing her hand against my cheek to brush away the tears.  She let me cry as long as I needed, and then I talked.  Why didn't I do anything differently?  Why did I have to take such a big risk?  Why couldn't I have saved him?  She hugged me and comforted me, told me that I didn't do anything wrong.  Told me that even if Bulbasaur knew he was going to die beforehand, my pokémon loved me so much that he would have done it anyway.  When I recovered, we walked out to the backyard together.  She stood off to the side as I dug a grave, and then we carefully buried Bulbasaur underneath my mom's favorite rose bush, which had been stripped of leaves and flowers but was still standing, even after the storm.  A sign?  I leaned my head on Misty's shoulder, taking strength from her presence.  She pulled me around and we stood together silently, just holding each other.

            After a time I asked her, "Did he know that I loved him?"

            "I know he did," she said.  "They all do."

            "But maybe I never told him..."

            Misty shushed me.  "It doesn't have to be said.  We just know."__

_            We just know..._

            Misty and I were more affectionate than usual for a while, though our relationship eventually turned back to normal.  Well, _almost normal.  After what we had gone through, no matter how many insults she would throw at me..._

            Somehow, they just never hurt like they did before.

Chapter Two__

            This was why she was so special...why I loved her.  She may seem a little rough around the edges, but when it came down to it, she was the most caring and loving person I knew, next to my mom.  And this was why she deserved a special night for me to _tell her that I loved her.  I had figured out exactly what to do to make the night perfect._

            I would take her to a fancy restaurant, give her roses, and take her on a carriage ride through the park afterwards.

            ...oh, shut up.  _You try to think of anything else to do in Pallet town.  I love my hometown, but it's not even big enough to be on a map.  Professor Oak is the only reason anyone even knows where it is.  Well, okay, _I_ might have had something to do with that as well.  But try as I might, I couldn't come up with anything more original.  However, Misty and I had never been to a really fancy dinner before.  Well, there were those award banquets...but we had never been to one alone, at least.  And not in a restaurant setting.  So it would be special to us._

            I hoped.

            I called her.  We had moved back to our own homes after I became Pokémon League Champion.  I thought it would be weird, after traveling together for so long, but it just turned out to be practical.  We each had different interests to pursue, and besides, we still saw each other every weekend.  It's amazing the effect a driver's license has on a long distance relationship.

            The phone rang, and I heard a rather disgruntled voice pick up.  "Cerulean City Gym."

            "Hey, Misty?"

            "What do _you want?"_

            "Um...to say hello?"

            "Ash Ketchum, I'm kind of busy here."

            "Love you too."

            See, that's as close as I'd gotten.  It'd be nice if I could ever say it without her laughing at me, though.  Even if it did diffuse the tension now.  She giggled and I could tell by her voice that she relaxed.  I pictured her leaning against the wall, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she absentmindedly refixed her ponytail.  Her hair had grown long, almost reaching her waist.  It was partly because she liked long hair, and partly because she wanted to have one thing about her looks that she considered 'better' than her sisters.  She may not realize it, but while she was just as pretty as they were, what I liked best was that she still wore her hair back in a simple ponytail and never wore make-up.  Her beauty was completely natural.  I had been stupid not to realize it when I was a kid.

            "Sorry," she was saying now.  "It's just that we've got a lot of visitors in the gym today."

            "I'll make it quick then.  Are you busy Saturday night?"

            "I had plans..."

            "Oh."

            "...to be with you, silly!  I always keep my weekends free."

            "You do?"

            "Of course.  At least, when I don't have to go to a water show, or tournament, or exhibition, or gym workshop, or battle, or conference..."

            "Oh...right."

            She giggled sheepishly.  "I guess we're both busy."

            "You can say that again...but, since you said you _weren't busy Saturday night, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to eat."_

            "Sure.  What did you have in mind?"

            "Well...I already made reservations at The Loft, if that's okay with you."

            "....The....Loft?"

            "Yeah.  You said you wanted to go there sometime."

            "I do!  But...you can afford it?"

            "Sure.  The Professor gave me some extra hours."  As in, twenty...this evening was going to be very expensive...

            "Wow!  That'd be great.  I've got this little black dress I've been dying to wear somewhere."

            ...but that just made it all worth it.

            "The reservations are for seven-thirty, so can I pick you up at seven?"

            "Okay.  Hey, Ash...oh wait, hold on a minute."  I heard a conversation going on in the background for a moment, and then Misty was back.  "Shoot, we have a challenger.  I have to go."  Misty usually battled for the badges by virtue of the fact that she was a pokémon league champion.  "I'm sorry the conversation was so short."

            "That's okay.  We can talk more on Saturday."

            "Right.  Okay...take care now."

            "You too."

            I hung up and smiled.  I always wanted to end with an "I love you."  Maybe after Saturday, I could...

            Phase one of Operation I Love You was done.  On Friday I went into town to take care of phase two.  Pikachu was with me.  We were still best friends but I had a lot of time to myself nowadays, as Pikachu liked to hang around Professor Oak's and visit Elvira, Professor Oak's female pikachu.  Professor Oak and I expected a handsome litter of Pichu to come out of that relationship soon.   But for now, we were both content to enjoy each other's company as we walked to the downtown florist, as I had to shell out some of my hard-earned cash on some roses.  I was working for the Professor all day Saturday and couldn't pick them up beforehand—I'd have to put them in the refrigerator and pray they didn't wilt.

            The florist looked up at the sound of the bell.  "Hello, and welcome to the Roqué Bouquet...my goodness, if it isn't the twerp!"

            "I'm not a twerp!" I growled at Jessie. She and James had gone straight and opened their own florist shop about the same time I became a pokémon master.  We had seen each other since then, because I bought Misty flowers from here.  But Jessie always made a big deal out of our meeting.  It annoyed me—and I think that's why she did it.

            Pikachu wandered off to inspect some baby's breath—hmm, maybe I should mention that to the professor—about the same time that Jessie asked, "How's the girlfriend twerp?"

            "She's not my girlfr..." Oops.  Gut reaction around Team Rocket.  "I mean, Misty's doing fine.  I came to buy her some roses."

            "Roses?"  Jessie squealed.  "What kind?"

            "A dozen red roses."

            "_Red?  Ooo..." Jessie wiggled her eyebrows at me.  That was very disturbing._

            "What?"

            "Red is the color of passion, you know..."

            "Uh...I knew that."  Passion?  I wondered if I should be worried about the roses I had given my mom for Mother's Day for all these years...

            "Then you and Misty are passionate?"  She continued to tease.

            I squirmed.  I was uncomfortable with Team Rocket...err...well, former Team Rocket... knowing the details of our private lives.  Imagine that.  "I...guess you could say that."

            "Wow."  Jessie gave me a knowing look and thumped me on the back.  "I don't believe it.  Our little twerp is growing up and taking the next step, isn't he?"

            "The next step?" I asked stupidly.

            "You know.  The next step, the big dive, the home run?"

            "Home run?  Misty doesn't like baseball."

            She gave me a _look.  "I mean, you're going all the way."_

            "All the way where?"  And then it clicked and my eyes widened. "I..._Jessie!  Ewww!"  I buried my head in my hands, as I'm sure my face was beet red.  Okay, so the _thought_ wasn't __ewww.  It was rather...enticing, actually.   But the idea of sharing that fact with Jessie?_

            I shuddered again.

            "It's not _that," I told her.  "It's just...I love her.  And I'm gonna tell her that," I said meekly._

            Evidently to Jessie, that was just as good as having sex.  "_Awwwww!"  _

            What it is with girls and their insistence on saying _awwwww?  I swear, they have the same reaction whether they see a baby or gourmet chocolate bar.  __Awwwww..._

            Meanwhile Jessie was having a conniption.  "Awwwww!  Our little twerp is growing up and saying _I love you!  James!  Get out here!"_

            "What?"  James wandered out from the back. 

            "Ashy-boy needs three dozen red roses.  Go get them for him.  Now."  James obediently went into the backroom and came back out with his arms full of roses.  Running his own business had given him more backbone.  Having Jessie as a girlfriend had taken it away again.      

            "Three dozen?" I sputtered as he reappeared.  I had been hoping I misheard her.  "Jessie, I said one dozen!"

            "This is a special occasion," she said as James handed me the roses.  I tried not to take them but I couldn't refuse without dropping them.  I held them gingerly, looking at her in disbelief.

            "I can't afford three dozen roses!  I'd have to take her to dinner at McDonald's instead of The Loft!"

            "The Loft?"  Both Jessie and James squealed.  

            "That's pretty fancy," James added.

            "He's telling the girl twerp that he loves her," Jessie said.

            "_Awwwww..." James said._

            That guy worries me.

            "Jessie, I can't pay for these," I said again.   

            "You don't have to.  They're free."  

            "_Free?!"  I gaped at her.  Their group hardly had enough to eat while they were on Team Rocket, and now they're giving away three dozen roses?  Business had obviously improved._

            "Of course.  It's not every day that our twerps grow up and confess their love to each other."

            _Our twerps?  For the first time I noticed that...time to go._

            "Uh, well, thanks a bunch," I said hastily, trying to back up.

            "You mean like a bunch of flowers?" James said, and they both giggled.

            Uh-oh, bad Team Rocket puns.  _Definitely time to go..._

            "Sure.  See you later."

            I walked out and wiped my brow, then furrowed it.  I had the funny feeling I was forgetting something.  But what?  I had gotten what I had come to get...oh, yeah.  I glared at the door furiously.  Like that would help.  I'm sure the door was quivering with fear.

            "Hey!  Give me back my Pikachu!"  I yelled.

            The door cracked open slightly.  "Can't we keep him once?  For old times' sake?"

            "No!"

            "Oh well.  Can't blame a girl for trying."

            The door opened completely and my disgruntled pokémon walked out, twitching his tail in annoyance at the figure behind him.  Jessie tossed him a rose to make up for it—he'd probably give it to Elvira.  He picked it up and was slightly pacified, though he still shot me a look and gave an annoyed, "Pika pika." _Some things never change._

            "Tell me about it."

------------------------------------------------------------

_Stayed tuned for the conclusion within the next few days...but while you're waiting, is anyone here a Harry Potter fan as well, and have you seen the new movie?  I'm hoping to go next weekend...feel free to tell me in your review how great/good/okay/bad/horrible it is..._


	2. Chapter 3, 4, & Epilogue

**_Nothing Special_**

Chapter Three

            It was L-day.  I hadn't told Professor Oak anything, but he knew something was going on.  It could be because he had to say my name twice before he got my attention.  It could be because I dropped three dozen poké-balls (one for each rose I was giving Misty, how about that) and spilled two bags of poké-chow before lunchtime.   Mostly likely it was the fact that he asked, "What's going on?" and I said, "Nothing."  The _nothing is always a dead give-away that there's really __something._

            "Does it have anything to do with Misty?" he asked me, as we knelt down and worked together to clean up the mess of pokémon food I had made.

            "It has nothing to do with her."

            "Aha.  I see.  Did you have a fight?"

            "No."

            "What did you fight about?"

            "We didn't have a fight, Professor Oak."

            "Then why are you mad at her?"

            "I'm not mad, you just made that up."

            "But it has to do with Misty."

            "It has nothing to do with Misty..."

            "I see."

            Well, that was productive.  

            Professor Oak went to the kitchen and came back with some Windex and paper towels.  He set me to work wiping the floor while he attempted to salvage the rest of the food in a huge plastic container.  Poké-chow doesn't come cheap, especially when you go through five bags a day. 

            As we worked, he resumed our previous conversation.  "You guys are pretty serious, aren't you?" he said.

            "Well..." Growing up without a dad, I'll admit, I had a tendency to think of Professor Oak as a surrogate father.  But it was just as awkward talking to him about Misty as it was talking to Jessie.  Ye gads...I hoped _the conversation wasn't coming up.  The Professor offering advice on condoms was not an appealing thought._

            Hopefully my answer was generic enough.  "We've been together five years. Yeah, I'd say we are."

            "Do you love her?" he asked, giving me a sly look. 

            "I..." Wasn't I supposed to be having this conversation with _Misty?  It occurred to me that I hadn't told her, or even my mom of my plans, and yet I was blabbing to Jessie and now Professor Oak.  To my credit, I hadn't told the Professor myself, but it was rather obvious..._

            "You do, don't you?"  He grinned.  

            "Well..." 

            "Have you told her?" he asked.

            "Uh..."

            "If you care about someone, it's completely natural for you to tell them how you feel."

            I was ready to change the subject.  "So, does that mean you've told my mom?"

            "What?" Professor Oak dropped the container of food he was holding, promptly spilling everything he had just finished picking up. A flush rose in his cheeks as he hurriedly denied, "This has _nothing to do with Delia...I mean, Mrs. Ketchum!"_

            "Aha.  I see."

            "_Ash!"  Ha ha, the Professor sounds funny when he's annoyed..._

            The phone rang.

            "I'll get that," Professor Oak said, shooting me a murderous look.  He picked up the phone.  "Hello?...yes he is, just a moment."  His look changed to curiosity as he handed me the receiver.  "It's for you.  I don't recognize his voice."

            I took the phone, but before I even said hello, I heard a deep voice wail, _"I'm not a guy!" then break down into sobbing._

            "I...uh...Misty?" I asked incredulously.  I actually didn't recognize the voice either, but the tears were unmistakable.  "Calm down, sweetie, calm down... are you okay?"

            "No.  I'm sick," she said.  Poor thing.  I had finally started empathizing with people as much as I did for pokémon, so I was immediately sympathetic.  "And Professor Oak said I was a guy."

            Knowing Misty, that was worse than being sick.  "Uh...that's not what he meant," I said hastily.  

            "He said _his."_

            "He was being generic.  He just couldn't tell it was you because, um, you sound kind of hoarse."

            "I'm sick..." she said again.  "I woke up this morning with a sore throat.  My head has been killing me.  I'm so sorry."  Even though she sounded raspy I could hear sadness behind her voice.

            "What?  Why?  You can't help being sick...did you go to the doctor yet?"

            "Yeah, he gave me some antibiotics.  But Ash...." she sniffed again.  "Your plans..."

            Yeah, my plans.  _Pffffffffffft...  There went my bubble.  So much for The Loft, so much for the roses...so much for __I love you.  I won't deny my disappointment.  But I would have to put that temporarily on hold while I comforted my distraught girlfriend._

            "It's okay.  We can go some other time.  I mean, I do want to see you, but it's more important that you feel better."

            "You were looking forward to it though...I mean, you made reservations at The_ Loft."_

            Yeah, and there was a twenty-dollar cancellation fee.  But no need to mention _that... _

            "Mist, don't worry about it.  You know that if I could, I'd be sick instead of you.  Just get better, okay?"

            "Okay."  She sounded pitiful, and I felt guilty for even thinking about money.  I was still struggling with depression that I wouldn't get to say _I love you though.  How selfish is that?_

            "Do you care if I call you tonight to see how you're feeling?" I asked.  "I don't want to wake you up..."

            "That'll be okay," she sniffed.  "If I'm asleep I'll just have my sisters tell me and call you back later.  I'm sorry."

            "Stop apologizing..." I soothed.  "You can't help it.  I'll talk to you later.  Bye, Mist."

            "Thanks.  Bye, Ash."

            _I love you..._

            We hung up.  My hand lingered on the receiver for a moment as I let the full impact of our conversation sink in.  Normally it would just be a canceled date.  But tonight...good grief, now I was going to be nervous for at _least another week.  I wondered if it was even possible to change the reservations.  I may have to change my plans, and then who knows how long it would take before I got to tell her that I loved her?  It had to be just right..._

            The Professor was standing beside me.  "She's sick," I told him, sighing.  "We were going to go out tonight, but...well, she's really sick."

            "I see," the Professor said.  Strangely enough, it sounded like he really did understand.  "How are you feeling?"  
            "Me?" I asked in surprise.  "I feel sorry for her, but she's the one who's sick.  I'm fine."

            The Professor raised his eyebrows.  I finally shrugged and admitted, "I'm bummed, but I'll get over it."

            "I think you should go to her," he said.

            "But..." I trailed off.  "I haven't gotten off work yet..."

            "I think it's important that you be with her, and you've done enough for one day," the Professor said sympathetically—then glanced over to the Poké-chow which still wasn't cleaned up.  "Quite enough," he added dryly.

            I gave a sheepish chuckle, but it only took a second of deliberation before I made my decision.  "Okay, I will.   Thanks, Professor," I said gratefully.

            "Any time, son.  Any time."

            ~~~

            I went home, changed clothes, grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup and lugged three dozen roses out to the front seat of my car.  I drove to Cerulean City and then drug three dozen roses into the gym.  Daisy was at the reception desk, and she dropped her clipboard when she saw me.

            "My goodness!" she said.  "For Misty?"

            "I was going to give them to her tonight..." I said by way of explanation.  "Is she here?"

            "She's in the living quarters...either in the den or in her room.  Here, let me walk with you and we'll put those in vases before you go see her.  How many are there?"

            "Uh...three dozen."

            "Three dozen?" she squealed.  "What's the occasion?"

            "They were free."

            Once Daisy stopped laughing at me, she led me to the kitchen.  She insisted on putting a bit of Sprite in the water, saying that it would make the roses look fresher.  How do girls invent these things?  We managed to fit them all in two large vases, and we each carried one as we went searching for Misty.

            "I hear the TV...she must be in the den.  Either she's watching it or she fell asleep with it on.  Here we are...Misty?" she called, juggling the flowers in her arms as she rapped lightly on the door.  "Are you awake?  You have a visitor."

            "Wha...?" A groggy Misty looked up from the sofa.  She was in a yellow tank top and pajama pants, and that made me grin, remembering the yellow outfit she wore so often the first part of my journeys.  She was awake, but just barely.  She didn't see me at first and I sneakily stayed back.  "Daisy, I look horrible.  I can't see anybody...who gave you those?" she asked, admiration in her voice.  Time to make my entrance.

            "They're for you," I answered, walking in after Daisy and setting my vase beside hers on the coffee table.

            "Ash!" Misty gasped.  She smoothed her hair back self-consciously.  I don't know why she bothered—I had seen her messy hair every morning for almost six years.  Why should I start caring now?  

            "Are they from you?" she asked.

            "Err...me, and Jessie and James," I admitted.  

            "They're beautiful!"   She leaned over and sniffed them.  "I can't smell them..." she added ruefully, "but they're gorgeous!"

            "Well," I said as I walked over and sat next to her on the sofa, putting my arm around her, "I thought that was fitting."  

            "Ash..." she pulled away and pushed a limp strand of hair behind her ear.  She _did look a bit unkempt, and her face was pale, bags under her eyes—but she had a very good excuse.  I felt sympathy and affection for her rise in my chest as she tried to downplay the compliment.  "I'm not very beautiful at the moment..."_

            I put my arms around her again, forcing her to give me a hug.  "You're you.  Of course you are."

            "Oh, gag me with a spoon," Daisy said.  She was teasing.  At least I think she was.  "Bye bye, sweethearts," she said as she walked out of the room.

            "Don't be such a sap, Ash," Misty scolded me, but I noticed that she didn't pull away this time.  In fact, she relaxed into my arms.  I could feel warmth radiating from her body.  I lifted one of my hands and placed it on her forehead, then let my lips touch it when I felt a fever. 

            "You're burning up," I said, shifting so that I was stroking her back instead.  "Can I get you something to drink?  My mom told me to tell you only to drink clear liquids..."

            "My sisters did too," she said.  "There's some water on the end table."  I kept my arm wrapped around her and squeezed her by the shoulders, then let go of her and made her finish off the rest of the glass.  I watched as she drank it.  

            "Thanks," she said, and I was pleased to see that her voice sounded a little healthier.  "Why are you here, anyway?  I thought you were at the Professor's all day."

            "He told me to come visit you," I said.  "I wasn't about to disagree."

            She smiled.  "Some visit," she said wryly.  "I've done nothing but sleep and watch TV.  I don't know if I even feel like talking very much.  I don't mean to be rude..."

            "But you're sick," I finished.  "Are you tired?  Do you want to take a nap?  I can go visit your sisters and check on you a little later."

            She hesitated.  "Maybe..." Stubborn little Misty.  She wanted me to stay, but was unwilling to offer the invitation herself.  I offered an alternative.

            "Or we could just watch TV, and if you fall asleep, then—I get to watch football!"  I sat down at the end of the sofa and commandeered the remote control.  Misty smiled, and then lay down with her head on my lap.  

            "Sounds good," she said, snuggling against my leg.  I stroked her hair gently.  "As long as you're absolutely positive that I'm asleep before you even dare turning it to ESPN.  I'm too sick to handle that much testosterone."

            "Are you questioning my manhood?"

            "_Ash!"  _

            She laughed, but didn't get a chance to respond with anything else before I mockingly continued.  "A man doesn't have to watch three-hundred pound men in tights running around in the mud to prove his manhood.  Though I'm starting to see the appeal for women."  She laughed again and shifted so that she could punch my leg as I said, "Do you want to know how much of a man I am?" I raised my eyebrows at her and wiggled them in a macho manner.  "I'm so much of a man that—" I clicked on the TV remote dramatically—"I watch ice skating."

            "_Wow.  Now that's __my kind of man," she teased, then yawned as she settled down against my leg one last time as we watched the graceful dancers twirl and leap on the TV screen.  Okay, so normally I _didn't_ watch ice skating, but I _was_ a pushover, and I knew Misty liked it.  Though neither of us watched it for long.  Her eyelids drooped lower and lower as the minutes passed, probably because of—as much as I would have liked to have blamed it on the ice skating—exhaustion from her sickness.  She was asleep within fifteen minutes.  _

            And I confess. After she fell asleep, I didn't watch football, or ice skating, or any other show for that matter.  I turned the television off, put the remote down, and as I began tenderly stroking her hair while she was sleeping, I watched...Misty.

Chapter Four

            I remember a lot of things. I remember the day I met Misty.  Contrary to what all my friends believe, I did _not think she was beautiful or even nice at the time.  There was one moment, right when we first saw each other, when I had a neutral perspective on our relationship, because with her first words I thought she asked if I was okay.  But when I replied and she immediately yelled at me, my defenses rose, and we've been sparring partners ever since.  Of course, that bike incident didn't help matters much...though we've since made peace on that.  Even if I never did pay her back for it.  _

            I remember the day I knew she was pretty.  Before then I knew she _could be pretty, because I had seen her dress up for festivals and parties, but I was always surprised to see that regular old Misty could look so much like a normal girl.  But one day we were traveling in the Johto League, and we stopped at a town during its annual charity week.  We stayed to help, and one of the projects was building a home for a family that otherwise couldn't afford it.  Brock was assigned to work with the men inside the house while Misty and I, due to our ages, got to help with the painting.  _

            We had all wanted to help, but I don't think any of us expected it to turn out as fun as it was.  The charity workers really knew how to have a good time.  They had several radios playing at the same time—and usually on different stations.  The workers would divide into teams and see who could sing along the loudest to the song they were hearing.  And it did get very loud—not to mention raucous and off-key—but it was a blast.  There was also a refreshment table set up, which Misty teased me for visiting too often, even though she either went with me or asked me to bring something back.  The people whose house we were building maintained the table most of the time and they would thank us repeatedly whenever we went up to get a drink.  It made me blush, but it also made me feel really, really good.  Misty and I never talked about it, but I could tell by her smile that she felt the same way.

            During the afternoon, the crew leader came over to see how we were doing.  He smiled and told us we were doing great, and then went to one of the other sections.  Misty and I exchanged a _look when he started harassing one woman, saying her painting was so pathetic, he bet she couldn't even paint her nails right.  And, of course, the woman promptly flung paint at him.  Which prompted all the other workers to turn on __their neighbor...turns out the man and woman had been husband and wife and were just teasing each other, but the news came way too late—a full-fledged paint war was in effect. They went easy on us since we were kids, but we were by no means spared._

            Then again, that may be my fault...as soon as I realized that we wouldn't get in trouble for playing around, I took my brush and swiped it right on Misty's nose.  She shrieked and threw her brush at me.  It hit me on the head and I got paint all in my hair.  And that was it for the paint throwing, but seeing as we then got into a wrestling war and rolled around on a paint-speckled ground while paint was flying through the air, we still got paint all over ourselves.  It was a good thing Brock had made us change into old clothing...by the time a truce was declared, we were coated in the eggshell shade we had been painting with—but we were also laughing too hard to care.  And neither of us could stop laughing, either.  Each time we came close to calming down, one of us got a good look at the other and we simply broke down again.

            And that's when _it happened..._

            I glanced over at her, intending to say something along the lines of her having problems with her make-up brush that morning, but never made it that far.  I watched as she stood up, stretched, and tilted her head as she tried to comb through her hair with her fingers.  And then I saw something...different.  At first I thought it was just the sun in my eyes, so I rubbed at them, almost smearing paint in my eyes.  Misty saw me trying to blink it away.  She scolded me and, still giggling, grabbed a rag that was near us.  As she leaned over to wipe the paint off my face, I caught my breath, and hoped she didn't notice...I was acutely conscious of her touch, and how close her face was to mine.  For the first time I was nervous to be near my best friend, because I had just realized something.  

            She was still skinny, and still looked like a tomboy.  She was dressed in one of Brock's lumpy old t-shirts and frayed jeans with holes in them.  She was covered in paint and her hair had come down from her ponytail and was a tousled mess from our wrestling match.  She hadn't changed a bit—but my perception of her had.  Because suddenly...

            She was _pretty_ to me.

            I remember realizing that my best friend had just become my love interest.  I remember my surprise and fear and my not knowing how to act around her for several weeks.  I remember worrying that I had ruined our relationship forever, and I remember the night when we both found out that I hadn't.  It was the last night of the Johto League ceremonies.  Misty was upset about something, and I comforted her...by kissing her.  I remember how tightly we held each other after that as we admitted that we liked each other.

            I remember the travels after that, and I remember all our special moments.  I remember everything about Misty...well, almost everything.  Because the one thing I _don't remember is...when I fell in love with her.   _

            And that's because by now...I can't remember a time when I ever wasn't.  

~~~

            She slept for two hours while I reminisced.  By the time she woke up, not only had I given in and tuned in to ESPN, but it was dinner time.  She excused herself to go take a shower while I went out to the car and pulled out my trusty can of chicken noodle soup and heated it up.  After she dressed, still wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt but a fresh pair, I dished up a big bowl of soup and brought it out to the living room, complete with ice water, orange juice, and crushed ice on the side.  I set one of the roses I had given her on the tray, right next to the box of tissue.  She laughed when I delivered it, and I waited for a crack about how I missed my calling as a Nurse Joy.

            "Ash..." she said.  "Don't you think I'm sick enough without you cooking for me?"

            "Don't worry.  Daisy supervised," I told her.

            "Oh, that's real reassuring," she teased.

            "And it was microwavable."  

            "I won't tell you about the fire she started in there..." She took the spoon and blew on it, then took a sip.  "But it appears to be safe."

            "Sure it is.  I only spit in it once."

            "_Ash!"_

            She dropped the spoon—she knew I was joking, but I had made the faux pas of speaking as she was swallowing and she was now choking.  Immediately repentant, I pounded her on the back, punctuating the motion with a "Sorry!  Sorry!"  every time I jabbed.  She gulped down half the glass of water, finally stopped choking, and threw me an exasperated look.

            "What am I going to do with you?"  

            I shrugged helplessly, giving her my best puppy dog pout, and she shook her head.  But I knew her weak point—eventually she had to grin.  She rolled her eyes and said in a not unaffectionate tone, "Just watch your testosterone channel, okay?"

            "Okay."  I was forgiven.

            I leaned back against the sofa, did as she commanded, and consequently she was able to finish her meal in relative peace.  When she finished, she lay back down and settled against my leg like she owned me.  She was probably right.  She coughed, and I could hear the congestion in her voice.  I ran my fingers through her hair to comfort her.  And then she burped.

            "_That was lady-like."_

            "_You watch ice skating."_

            We both smiled and I changed the channel to something we both liked.  

            It wasn't The Loft...but I can't say that it wasn't an enjoyable evening.  Of course I would have liked for her to have been well, and for me to have taken her out to eat, but there was something special in itself to have such a simple, trusting love.  Misty lay peacefully against my side all night, and sometimes I could feel her sighing contentedly.  I kept my arm around her, occasionally stroking her arm or her hair, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead after I did.  Around ten she was almost falling asleep again, this time for the night.  She declined going to her room, saying she'd use the sofa for a bed.  So I got up and retrieved her pillow, fluffing it before I placed it under her head.  She smiled at me when I knelt down with a blanket and attempted to tuck her in.

            "Thanks..." she mumbled.  "Ash, you're so sweet."  She was too tired to qualify that.

            "No problem."

            "It is too."

            "What, that I'm sweet?"

            "No, silly," she said, and then coughed.  I rubbed her back through the blanket.

            "You should stop talking," I said gently.  "Just go to sleep, okay?  You'll feel better in the morning."

            "But...you didn't have to do everything you did tonight," she said, completely ignoring me.  "You didn't have to bring me flowers or make me soup or stay with me so I didn't get lonely.  You shouldn't have to do that."

            "I wanted to," I told her.

            "Why?"

            "Because..." I paused.  Because you're sweet yourself, Mist, I wanted to say.  Because you stay with _me when I need you.  Because you care for me without caring for my position or status.  Because you're beautiful and don't even know it.  Because...because of all the little things, that make you who you are..._

            ...and because I don't need a fancy evening or dramatic moment as an excuse to care for you, because _you're special, and that's what's important._

            "Because I love you," I said.

            She blinked, recognizing even in her fever-induced state that this was the first time I had ever said the words to her.  And that I meant them.  

            "Even...even when I'm sick and sweaty and snotty and tired?" she asked.

            "Of course.  I just love you."  I tensed slightly, wondering how she would react.  If that was enough.

            She smiled.  "Well, good," she said softly.  "Because I love you too."

            And I relaxed.  We gazed in each other's eyes, my right hand brushing the hair out of her eyes, my left hand in hers.  She squeezed it gently, and I squeezed it back.  Everything—her condition, the circumstances—became unimportant compared to what had just taken place.  I told her that I loved her.  And she accepted it.  

            I brought my face close to hers, and her eyes closed—and not because she was tired, either.  Our lips met.  I could feel the flush of her cheeks, and the labored effort of her breathing, but she didn't hold back, so I didn't either.  I took my hand off her forehead and placed it behind her neck, stroking it as I felt her lips part and we fell into a deeper kiss.  She reached out and put her arm around my waist, drawing me closer, so that in order to be comfortable I had to lie on the sofa next to her.  My hand drifted to her waist and I let it rest on the bare skin that was peeking out from under her shirt.  It was several minutes before we broke apart, and then she pulled away,  smiled as she looked me in the eye, and matter-of-factly said, 

            "You just frenched the flu."

            I shrugged and smiled back as I traced her lips with my finger, trying to be amorous and shut her up at the same time.  "It was worth it."

Epilogue

            I was sick to my stomach.  I was sweaty all over—when I wasn't busy shaking with the chills.  My breathing was ragged—or else congested.  And my mind wouldn't function _at all—though Misty politely refrained from making any further comments on this, as she was sympathetic to my condition._

            Sure, I was in love, but I wasn't only in love—I was _sick._

            With my mom bustling around as my nurse, Misty didn't have any duties to care for me, but having completely recovered herself, she came over to keep me company.  Though in my opinion, I had been much more charitable.  

            "_Told you that you shouldn't have kissed me," she said cheerfully.  "Didn't I?"_

            I would have answered her, but I was too busy coughing.

            She waited until I stopped and I leaned against her leg, exhausted.  My head was pounding, and despite the fever reducer and antibiotics the doctor had given me, I was still shaking from the fever most of the time, and not even the heavy blanket over me helped.  Through a dim haze I could feel Misty trying to stroke the bangs off my forehead, like I had for her just a week earlier.  My hair stuck to my forehead from the sweat, and without complaint she took a washcloth from the table next to her and wiped my face with it.  Strange how I could be shaking with the chills and have a cool washcloth be welcome relief.  

            "Thanks, Mist," I said hoarsely.

            "You know I love you," she said simply.  The words seemed to roll of her tongue so much easier than they had for me.  I had worried for nothing. 

            "I know."

            "I'm not kissing you though."

            I let my head flop onto her lap and leaned into the hand that she had on my cheek.  "I know..." I groaned, then coughed again.

            She giggled and rubbed my arm consolingly.  "Just so you know that."

            "I know."

            "Can you say anything other than _I know?"_

            "I...no."

            She laughed and, trying not to disturb me too much, made herself a hypocrite as she adjusted herself and leaned over to kiss me on the forehead.  "Get some sleep sweetie, okay?"

            "Okay."

            I closed my eyes, concentrated on the touch of her hand on my forehead, and dozed off almost instantly.  The world was a blur around me before I remembered something and tried to wake myself.  It was important that I say this.  My speech was a bit slurred, but I was successful enough to say, "Misty?"

            "What is it?"

            "I love you too."  I tried to sit up so that I could see her.

            She placed her hands on my chest and gently forced me back down, running her fingers through my hair as I lay back down, my eyes drooping even as she answered me.  But she was right—I hadn't needed to look at her, because I could hear the smile and warmth just through her voice.  Her words were the last ones I heard before, with a contented sigh, I drifted off to sleep again.

            "I know."  

            And I know I was asleep, but I'd like to think she kissed me one more time.

**The End**

------------------------------------------------------------

_A few shout-outs to:  Dragoness, who either knows me too well or had a _really_ good guess about what was going to happen...and Shandy, because I decided I didn't want to be an accomplice to your death so I posted within a reasonable amount of time.  ^_~  Oh, and E2K—yup, I like roses!  Kinda a coincidence that both stories involving them got posted in succession, though.  ^_^_

_Once again, this can all be blamed on Latonya Wright.  Latonya, now look what you did..._

_Disclaimer, seeing as I forgot it last time:  I don't own pokémon, but I never really wanted that much money, anyway.  (Survey says:  Yeah, right.  ^^)_


End file.
